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Reinhart Truestrike
Half-Elf Male |Row 2 title = Born |Row 2 info = August 20th, 20 L.C. (Age - 19) |Row 3 title = Place of Birth |Row 3 info = Southshore, Hillsbrad |Row 4 title = Class |Row 4 info = Gladiator, 'Paladin' |Row 5 title = Title(s) |Row 5 info = Squire of Zaria Blackmoore Little Sparrow (Self-denoted) |Row 6 title = Occupation |Row 6 info = 'Paladin' of the Citrine Eagle Argent Crusader (Formerly) |Row 7 title = Affiliation(s) |Row 7 info = |Row 8 title = Faith |Row 8 info = |Row 9 title = Relatives |Row 9 info = Alex J. Steelwing (Birth Mother) † Daelis Truestrike (Birth Father) † Zaria Blackmoore ("Adoptive" Mother) Al Wright ('Sibling') |Row 10 title = Status |Row 10 info = Alive }} Reinhart Truestrike (nicknamed "Rein") is a stalwart man, his resilience unmatched and has looks to kill both man and woman alike. He was born from Southshore between a pairing that is marred in both inconsistencies and black ink by officials at the time, making his written past something of a mystery to anybody not close to him. Currently he resides under service of the Citrine Eagle as Zaria Blackmoore's new-found Squire and general personnel alongside the Alteraci Silver Hand. While his path has already proven dangerous to tread, his eyes are set forward and embraces the praxic fire of the future. History Early Life - The Lie Reinhart's birth was a miracle of life on August 20th, 20 L.C.. His mother, a compassionate cleric and Paladin of the Silver Hand. His father, a powerful and esteemed Magister of Quel'thalas. They both cherished their little newborn with all the love a new couple of parents could muster, hoping only for the best as they viewed the future with glossy eyes and warm hearts. Early Life - The Truth Reinhart's birth was a stain upon the Southshore public records, struck from all books with black ink and left to the void of forgotten memories. His father was indeed an esteemed Magister of Quel'thalas, and his mother a Paladin. But that is where the similarities die. Alex J. Steelwing, Reinhart's birth mother, had slaughtered his father in cold blood after having suspected and affirmed after years that he was a practitioner of dark arts. This was merely part of a grander scheme, as she was soon thereafter charged with murder and dishonorably discharged from the Silver Hand, sentenced to be executed privately no later than four months after the birth of her child. Even at the woman's pleas for mercy, insufficient evidence of Daelis' necromantic practice left her to rot in a jail cell for months to come. And indeed, when the day came for her execution, after having only held her precious child for a matter of weeks, she had one final request - to allow him shelter with an old war buddy of hers, a grizzled Wildhammer war veteran in Aerie Peak. They allowed her this, and ended her life. Reinhart's early life was insurmountably difficult, his mixed blood leaving him at the brunt of slowly dying racists and the skepticism of his mother's death had made him a target. He often found himself isolated from the other children, by purpose or his own free will - he knew why. And he merely obliged their wishes. Southshore, while his original home and one he visited very often, was not where he lived. His real home was near Aerie Peak in the Hinterlands, his only remaining family a grumbly old bastard of a Wildhammer named Thangrir. And the man certainly did not make it easy on Reinhart. He was more like a slave than a step-son to him, and rarely ever cared whether he returned home or not at night. Their relationship was almost always a screaming match about seemingly small tasks or even nothing at times. This made Reinhart a rebellious teenager and it showed heavily as he often slept out in the stars, watching them flicker as he pondered around his own vast, untapped mind. Growing Years An excerpt from his step-father's journal; "Rein has gotten on my last nerve! That little shite STOLE a gryphon from the roost! Took it on a trip 'round the Hinterlands and damn near died! Took every gryphon rider on a wild goose chase! I don't even know how they didn't catch up to him! Morons. More worried about the gyphon to be honest - he crashed landed balls deep into troll territory, gryphon lived with a few scratches and he fractured his arm. But.. I do gotta give the lad some credit.. He managed to kill a full-blown forest troll with nothing but a sharpened stick. Lad's only eleven! Maybe he's got a warrior's spirit somewhere in that shit-eating grin he always has." A small spark struck in the old dwarf's heart, understanding the truth of the matter after many years. He was just a lonely kid and if he left him to his devices, he'd just end up as some thug on the streets of Azeroth. No, no, no.. That isn't what his mother would want. He has a destiny. Thangrir called upon him one day and proposed that he would teach him all he knew in combat. He was going to forge him into a warrior worthy of song before it was too late. The little eleven year old Reinhart nodded with glee, finally a task. A goal. He was as happy as he ever was. But the dwarf had his skepticism. He would see in time. The training was hell. It was a consistent rigorous trial on Reinhart's growing body as he learned how to use nearly every weapon in a Dwarven Regime's arsenal nothing short of mortar cannons. Bows, blades, hammers - he learned how to use them all and once he had learned the basics, he picked a few to master. Namely the Longsword. By the time he turned thirteen, his training had been deemed complete by his stepfather - the boy already towering above him at 5'11" and growing still. Though still far too young to adventure or join a military, he decided to seek out further training between Aerie Peak and Southshore. The Dragonslayer It was a quiet day in Southshore, the town going about it's business as time toiled on. A small whistling wind in the Spring time air -- until some bumbling ogres trotted down from the mountains, at least three dozen of them, with the leader up front and wearing a human-sized crown and wielding a very ominous scepter. "Me king now hummies. An' yous slaves to ogre kingdom!" The leader waggled the scepter in the growing crowd of guardsmen's faces - civilians cowering behind the frontlines but curiously staring at the dumb ogre lord. "You come quiet or we SMASH!" The bumbling ogre lord waved his hand dismissively as he retreated, giving the town a small ultimatum. Of course, a bastion of the Light and Human-life wouldn't stand idle by when ogres come knocking so they called a militia, and off went the majority of the fighting force due north a few hours walk to take the fight to them. This left Southshore somewhat poorly defended, only the runts of the guards and troublemakers left. And Reinhart. Reinhart was not a guardsmen but even he was suspicious of the act. Why would the ogres just... retreat? Then a beat of wings echoed overhead - a gleaming obsidian creature towering above all else as it let out a lizard-like hiss and it's eyes targeted down at the few guards left. And left they did - taking off running into the town hall like cowards and leaving a vast majority of the civilian population unattended. The black drake landed with a loud cacophony as it's claws gripped the cobblestone and dirt road and let out a piercing roar. The halfling was at a loss for words - but took action as quickly as the fight began, darting over toward the smithy and grabbing a beaten old metal heater shield and a newly forged longsword, an edge as keen as a razor. He charged the drake with a vigorous battle cry but was quickly silenced as he took a tumbling roll, nearly dodging a long, high aimed spew of a shadowfire, setting the smithy ablaze and nearly charring the halfling to ash. This gave him prime time as the roll closed the gap between him and the drake, slamming his blade upward in a slash, planting a deep, deep cut into the drake's throat as it began to suffocate on blood. It reeled it's claw up and with a smashing sound, knocked the shield clean from his arm and giving heavy lacerations into his arm. A cry of pain wailed but he did not stop - longsword in hand he continued to chop and slash at the drake's throat, blood flowing like water. It began to retreat, flapping it's wings panicked and buffeting Reinhart to the stone with a loud slam. As the drake retreated, a thought pierced Reinhart's mind. "The Dragonslayer of Southshore", oh yes. A title! One worthy of a song! Legend! A legacy! He grinned with devious intent and took off after the drake flying north, blood splatters across the grass making it easy to track. He found it wounded and dying in an open field - a mercy killing. Or so he thought as the drake rose with a loud scream and charged Reinhart, attempting to take a bit out of him. It was frenzied and reckless, the razor sharp teeth grazing across the halfling's flesh with a spew of blood and his longsword puncturing the soft underbelly of the drake, piercing it's heart. It dropped with a meaty sound as it's eyes rolled back into it's head and departed. "YES!" Reinhart cried, successful but bleeding heavily. He spent the next few hours mending his wounds, nice scars forming across in the shape of claws and skinning the drake for it's scales. He returned, expecting a heroes welcome to the town that has left him in the dirt, yet he was only met with sorrow as he noticed the town had been ransacked by more ogres. It was all a distraction - to lead the population away and the drake to either kill or lead away would-be adventurers and left over guardsmen. It worked. Several people were wounded, some killed and a majority of the livestock was taken. He felt.. horrid. Selfish. Angry. He left these people to suffer while he sought out a legacy. It was then he vowed to never abandon those in need of protection. The start of his path to the Light. Call of the Crusade Like many half-elves before him and many after him, he sought a place where acceptance was key. And with his new found path toward the Light, he sought out the Argent Crusade. His place was set as a Squire, often given to Knights of renown and esteem to serve him as he once served his step-father. Polishing armor, swords and fetching their steeds. Even as his teenage angst was quelled amidst the bastion of Light of Hearthglen, he did not learn anything from these Knights, often complaining formally and being set with a new one, only for the same to happen. This laziness and unwitting to teach him drew him angrier and angrier as time went on, months of time wasted merely being a servant to these people. Yet that time drew to a close as he was given to a lesser known Knight, but one who would show him the way; Zaria R. Blackmoore. Zaria at the time of the Cataclysm was a far-cry from what she may been seen as now. She was much more carefree, joyous and when told she would be given a Squire, excited beyond measure. The woman embraced the idea with such an overwhelming positive attitude, she seemed like an expectant mother - and like a mother she was. Reinhart had never truly had a parental figure, let alone a mother in his life. And this was the first he'd come close too. She treated him not particularly as an equal, but more like her child, preening and prepping him for the real world, making games out of the lessons of the Light and food for him when the military rations were growing stale and tiresome to his growing physique - which he had already grown to a staggeringly abnormal height of 6'3" as a fourteen year old. The two bonded flawlessly, and it seemed progress was truly being made in his path. Everything seemed right in the world -- until Andorhal. Reinhart had not been there, thankfully, during the atrocities and only heard rumors and whispers of the event. Zaria was none too pleased and he knew it. She criticized the Argent Crusade in front of him, damning them for inaction against the undead so close to their home front. In her sudden brash and brazen decision, she left the Crusade and rejoined the Grand Alliance, leaving Reinhart behind - out of her own selfish desires or merely forgotten. At least that is how he took it. He was crushed, really. The closest thing to a mother he had ever gotten only to be swept away by the currents of war. He begrudgingly stayed with the Crusade for a few months more, even as he agreed with Zaria's sentiments of inaction. After realizing he really would never learn anything with these louts, he departed. Seeking grander things. Friend He was lost, alone and angry - months wasted among the Crusade only to have him wandering back to Aerie Peak. He merely got a job as a stable-boy for the gryphons, the next few months were.. droning, boring and aggravating. He toiled for months, making a meager salary before turning sixteen and packing his things to tread north once more. He sought adventure once more and found himself in a particularly nasty part of the Plaguelands, viewing a convoy moving into Quel'thalas from a hill top. It was an ambush by the Scourge, trying to stop the convoy from delivering Hawkstrider eggs bred from prestigious war-mounts. Reinhart was not quick enough, witnessing the slaughter half-way done as he rode down and began to bring his blade down. He was one of three swordsmen left, guards all but murdered by the rush of ghouls. Even as he cut wave after wave of Scourge away, he was unsuccessful in his defense - once again letting people die because of his inaction and his lack of power. He grew angry as he was surrounded by bodies and a ton of broken eggs, looking for something to take his rage out on. But as he peered around, he saw a singular egg sat hidden under a tuft of hay. The lone survivor, it seemed as he took it with him, going back to Aerie Peak. It hatched after a few weeks - a small chicken-like creature popping out, a faint chirp given as he looked at Reinhart with an affection, viewing him as it's parent. The hawkstrider would grow into a pedigree war-bred mount which he lovingly named "Alro" - 'Snow' in Thalassian, as reference to her snow-white plumage. Determination & Rage After further months of stagnation, his rage boiled to a peak and he brought himself full-circle, seeking out the last vestige he had of a family, a teacher and path to the Light. Zaria. He knew little of her past, and truthfully still doesn't, but he knew that she was from Alterac and took his new mount along with supplies to the far reaches of Alterac Mountains. His search ended in the Ruins of Alterac, having tracked Zaria down only to have his search for knowledge elude him once again. She had already prepared to make way into Draenor's war-effort. Reinhart could not join as he was not official military for any faction willing to stake claim into the world. So his teachings would once again have to wait. This enraged him. He had wasted years of his life chasing a dream that seemed to avoid him at every turn. His anger turned to depression. ----WIP Notes for Myself---- >Filler time between Draenor and Legion (1 year) (Still dunno wtf to put here) >Official reunion / Joining the Eagles >Finding the Truth of his Mother / Father (Southshore Expedition) >Nightmares + "Soul Searching" feat. Seltara >Confronting the Demon / "Hymn of the Firstborn" (AKA; Zaria kills everything including my internet) >Official Squireship Pairing Ceremony >Present Time (End for now) Personality As comes with being tall, he often scares children and lesser folk away, making him an intimidating man and usually causing people to be taken aback. This aside, he is almost always poised with a smile on his features or at least a friendly demeanor. A big heart to fit in his body, he is an emotional man, wearing his heart on his sleeve. Thus, he is a kind soul, always wishing the best of luck and giving all he can to those who need it. Even at his lowest, he cares more for others than he does himself. An immaculate example of selfless behavior, yet at a daring cost of his own health. Once a goal is set to him, he will not stop until it is done or he is dead, his passion for his path insurmountable and his warrior-spirit unquenchable. Once a challenge is poised, it is him or it. There is no middle ground. No compromise. However, this is only in a physical sense. He is keen to the grey moral area that all mortals suffer too. Were it all black and white, life would be boring. His understanding of balance in all things keeps him from the zealous nature of other Light-worshipers. While his faith is resolute to the Light, he is slowly learning and ultimately understands other religious views; from Druidism to Titans. While not the sharpest tool in the shed, he is wise beyond his years in the nature of the world and what some may call "street-knowledge". Far from book smart, he gained his intellect from years of trial and tribulation in the outside world and by the sweat of his brow. But when it comes to the intricacies of book-gained knowledge, he is lost and to what a scholar may claim as being dumb. Which he takes as a personal attack. Other small notes can be found by simply interacting with him, as he is a rather benign figure. Such as he hates social crowds with an absolute passion and will shut down when caught in their confines, finding personal conversation much more enjoyable than such. Or that his favorite colors are pink and black. The Alliance While not a die-hard patriot like many in the Alliance, he connects with them far more than anything another faction may offer. Even with his time in the Argent Crusade, his ties with the Alliance-savvy races has always been stronger than ones of a different flock. Even when at times, he was treated like dirt because of his mixed heritage, he always found at least one friendly face among them. And now with his ties to Alterac strengthened through the Citrine Eagle, his motivation to serve the Grand Alliance has only but solidified. The Horde His opinions of the Horde are a mixed bag, as much as the Horde itself is. While he does not seem to hate Orcs, Trolls, Tauren or the like - he has not been given a firm impression. Having not been caused suffering by them, he seems to only keep them at an arm's length, so long as they're standing beside or in front of him. He finds Tauren quite interesting, and rightfully so as they're by far the most friendly toward other races. That is where his like of the Horde ends. He believes the Forsaken are an atrocity that needs to be wiped out; their constant disregard for the quality of life itself, not just humans, as an affront to nature. He is vehement in his dislike for undead, Forsaken or otherwise, and has killed plenty of his fair share. There are exceptions, however, excessively rare. And he will more than likely not interact with them at all. Blood Elves, once his 'ilk' being partially elven in blood, are often held in poor regard by Reinhart. He believes they could serve the Alliance once more, but their constant disregard for forging new alliances, their rampant strive for power and independence will only forge their ultimate and final downfall. His father being his elven half also does not bode well for his opinions on them as a whole either. He will tolerate a friendly face, but when it comes to war - he is not keen to show mercy. Appearance Reinhart is a towering man, standing at a freakish six-foot seven-inches (6'7") and walks with a presence that intimidates as much as demands respect. Yet deep down, this warrior has a turbulent soul, often having his emotions take precedence over critical thinking, for better or worse. While many notice his height first, his body clearly forms more on the elven side of his blood, being thinner than a human's but if caught without a shirt, one can easily see he did not let that stop him from conditioning his body, being as muscular as his body would allow without causing an excessive amount of bulk. A "lady-killer" as well, his facial features could cause even the most haughty noblewoman to blush, posed with an almost unnatural charm to his physical appearance. His sky-blue eyes glow with an alluring tone and his chocolate brown hair sits messily atop his head, almost never taking care to organize it but still managing to look good. A small strand of braided hair dangles like a tassel from the left side of his hair out of said mess. And as with all half-elves, his most prominent feature are his long, partially pointed ears, sitting about 3 inches off his head and poke through his hair in a shameless manner, clearly unafraid of his heritage. Scars His bare skin is poised with several small scars but several are prominent; a dragon-like clawing scathes his left arm, causing a long stream of gnarled but fully healed scar tissue starting from the middle of his forearm to his upper arm. A clear knife-wound puncture can be seen underneath his lowest ab from a forsaken's dagger. And ultimately; his face has a thin, but clearly visible scar starting from underneath his left eye and moving all the way over his forehead to his hair-line. Armaments His armor is much like a second skin, as is normal for plate-wearers. A slim steel-forged breastplate clings to his sleek torso as the primary piece of defense. Over top of it is a long black coat with a fur-lined collar which hugs the ring of his neck. The coat goes down, dangling behind his legs to about his calves. Pieces of dense steel are strapped tightly to his form across his body, namely near his joints, providing protection without hindering movement. Usually armed to the teeth, he totes around several weapons at a time, most of them plain for all to see. A mithril zweihander clearly made from human origins is strapped close to his back, the peak of the blade dangling as he walks. An elegant elven-made long sword is almost certainly seen at his hip, sheathed in basic leather. A dagger is sheathed across his chest for ease of access, the cross guard of it designed to be sturdy and able to quickly and efficiently parry most weaponry. Alongside these common weapons, it can vary, as he usually just takes what he can from easily accessed armories for military personnel. Companions Alro A snow white Hawkstrider of immaculate pedigree with striking golden eyes and donned with heavy combat armor, suitable to take quite a few blows before causing damage. Though even with all this heavy armor, she is still deft on her feet with quick foot-work, she can outmaneuver even the smallest horses. Though clearly bred to become a war beast, Alro is not formally trained in anything such - often used as a personal mount than a cavalier, she is rather frigid and "bitchy" when it comes to anybody aside from her owner. Though rarely, she might just warm up to others - with sufficient enough beak-pats and berries to eat. Relationships Zaria Blackmoore An eternal mother to him, Zaria had been there when he had little to nothing in life. Even amidst the camaraderie of the Argent Crusade, he felt lost and alone. But she was there to care for him, feed him and even grow to love him like a son. And her like a mother to him. When they tapered off from each other as Zaria left the Crusade, he always kept a fond memory of her, trying to stifle the thoughts that she purposefully abandoned him. And so many years later, they were reunited, albeit tenuously at first, and under a far different attitude than before. Zaria had grown much less ditsy and carefree in her newfound leadership of the Citrine Eagles, harboring a more serious demeanor which intimidated Reinhart at first. Though he knew he could break this shell. It would only take time. And time it took, until eventually after many trials at Reinhart's behalf, Zaria had grown to realize that this was no ordinary person come from her past; this was a child she had abandoned. And she means to make up for it. Anna Sible A soft-spoken person from the Stormwind Socialites, Anna Sible had caught eye on Reinhart one day as he loitered about Stormwind, reading old dusty tomes. While their initial introduction to one another was awkward at first, they grew quite fond of one another. Anna would often lend a caring ear for his troubles and in turn, he would keep her company. This friendship would soon blossom into something more; they were inseparable when in each other's presence, Anna often hooked around his arm or side and Reinhart keeping a rogue arm dangling around her shoulder at all times. However, over time, and as he grew closer and closer to his Squireship, he admitted that he would not have time to continue their budding relationship. A bitter-sweet realization to both, but Anna admitted she would not be so easily persuaded, saying she would wait for him, even at the behest of his understanding if she wished to pursue others. Only time will tell where this will lead... Tanya Seltara An old friend of Zaria's and soon was caught in her gaze, Reinhart and Tanya would quickly become friends after much talk of the theology of the Light and Reinhart's upcoming path to Knighthood. Their friendship quickly turned to loyalty as an event involving his father had come to Light and beside him and Zaria, Tanya had proven herself adamant to the halfling's defense, breaking lines of undead one after another while his soul tapered on the edge of destruction. This is not something so easily forgotten and the two have only had one another's backs upon the fields of combat alongside a keen ear to voice their problems. Al Wright A more recent addition to his life, and the doctor that had healed his knife-wound early into the days of Winter's Veil, it turns out Zaria had informally adopted another - "Al". Al and Reinhart had met originally after a Forsaken deathguard had punctured a knife into him. Amidst the minor surgery, Al had begun to dig into his past in order to distract him from the pain in lieu of anesthetic. The two quickly discussed far into the night, having found a fond similarity in each other. Though Reinhart would find out far later that Al had actually been adopted by Zaria, and with newly reignited family relations, he found in her more than a friend; he found a sister. Or brother. Sibling. - He isn't quite sure yet. They are quite fond of one another, taking flight into the role of siblings with absolute glee. Including the bickering of which one is technically older. Gallery Male_Reinhart.png|Art by "Kagurachi7" Reinhart_bust-up.jpg|Art by 'PandaMadu' Rein_sketch.png|Art by "XOvertime" Category:Half Elf Category:Paladins Category:The Citrine Eagle Category:Alteraci